A Broken Vessel
by Cannotflyyet
Summary: When Abaddon finally gets her hands on Dean, she wants to have a bit of fun before taking him as her vessel.
1. Chapter 1

The scene was a dismal one. Sam was yet to emerge to from the building even though Dean had seen the glowing blue light of Zeke shining through. As Dean's knees were pushed deeper into the dirt in which he kneeled, Abaddon smiled a toothy grin. His back arched, his eyes jolted back and forth, his muscles tensed, his feet pushed into the dirt, desperate to find solid ground. She could burn his little tattoo of his chest right now and take him as her vessel, but Abaddon saw no fun in that. She wanted to make him beg her to take control. She twisted his arm farther back and gently touched his face. Dean was beautiful, she had to admit. The more he squirmed under her grasp the more she wanted him; and the more he squirmed the more useless Dean felt. Sam emerged, limping, gasping for air. He was confused about how he ended up slumped against the wall with three dead demons at his feet, but he knew that finding Dean was more important than understanding what was happening. When he saw Dean, his legs went numb and he found himself sprinting despite what he now realised was probably a broken ankle. Suddenly Abaddon met Sam's gaze and he stopped. Dean watched as his little brother lost the ability to move and fell to his knees beside him. Sam winced. Abaddon smiled. Dean continued to struggle. Finally Abaddon sliced through the silence, "So here's what we're going to do, boys. I'm going to let go. Sam is going to stay put. And Dean," she giggles, "Dean is going to beg me to possess him. He is going to put his head to the ground and beg."

"Go back to hell, bitch," Dean growls, but Sam began to grunt, wince, then finally let out a single whimper as his body convulsed. Blood soon began to drop from his mouth. It may be fun to torture hunters in general, but nothing had ever felt as good as the pain in Dean's eyes as he watched his brother. She almost didn't want Dean to break just yet, but he would. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she saw his eyes glaze over. The fiery light that once inhabited them faded instantaneously. Dean steadied himself before lowering his forehead until it touched the dirt. Dust kicked into his eyes as he choked out words he fought so hard never to say just year before, "Please, let me be your vessel."


	2. Chapter 2

"Just let me be your Vessel." Dean wanted to spit in her face, or better yet brake it, burn it, then send it back to Hell.

Though Dean showed no outward signs of it, Abbadon could sense the rage burning through him; and she loved it. Sure, she wanted him as her vessel; but this girl had been holding her fairly well, and though he would be able to feel the pain that Dean felt as she murdered with his hands, the pain in his face would never be recreated with her inhabiting him.

Sammy watched as the toothey grin once again spread over Abbadons face. "No," she hissed. Abbadon turned and began to walk away, smile still on her face. Dean ran towards his brother, but before he reached him she chimed in, "No, Dean, follow me. Walk three steps behind me and do not speak."

Dean hesitated. Did he have to comply to her demands? Sammy was out of her grasp. Seconds passed as Abbodon kept walking away, never turning back. Dean didn't movve to follow her or to get to Sam. He was frozen in contemplation.

No sound was made save for the screeching of tires in the distance. Neither Sam nor Dean noticed that the sound was drawing nearer until the black,windowless van was in their line of sight. It finally came to a stop mere feet away from where Sam lay, and three large men with black eyes jumped out and dragged Sam inside so quickly that Deann couldn't jump to his rescue.

Dean took a deep breath, stood up, and followed Abbadon, jogging until he was exactly three steps behind her.

"Good boy."


	3. Chapter 3

The words were there, on the tip of his tongue. Burning through his mind as they got in the small car that had pulled up just behind the van, sitting side by side in the back seat. The words gripped to his thoughts as they arrived at a small, run down shack in the middle of the woods and remained there as he entered (three steps behind Abaddon) and traveled down a spiral staircase revealing a much more sinister, and much larger complex.

It was then, when Abbadon plopped down casually on a musty old couch that the words finally escaped him. "What do you want from me?"

Dean immediately bit his bottom lip as if to scold his own mind for his immediate indiscretion. If his dad got mad when he spoke out of turn, this psycho bitch was about to go ballistic.

But she laughed. She laughed at the man standing before her, out of place and confused. She had felt this surge of power many times before, but never quite like this.

It was not love. Do not think for a second that this story is a romance.

It was lust. A feeling so unstable that it had brought down nations. Abaddon wanted Dean; not just his body, but his suffering, pain, and anguish. And she would make him wish that that silly little angel never laid a hand on him, let alone brought him back from Hell.

This was Hell now, and she was the queen.

"I don't want anything from you," she patted the cushion beside her, as if telling a dog that just this once it was allowed on the couch, "I just want you."

Dean sat down, careful not to get too comfortable. "Take me then. Why don't you?"

"Oh honey, where's the fun in that? Now, tell me about Hell, and I'll tell you why you haven't even been there yet."


End file.
